


dans ce malheureux silence

by midnightroom



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Introspection, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 13:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightroom/pseuds/midnightroom
Summary: Lucas watched him wordlessly from the corner of his eye. His hand hovered over his tray, half-curled into a fist, knuckles bandaged tightly, like those of a boxer's. Eliott wondered how he'd hurt it. He had half a mind to take Lucas's hand into his own, curl his fingers around Lucas's, never let go. Their hands had fit so nicely on that bright, beautiful morning, clasped together against the cool white sheets of Lucas's bed.(or, Lucas and Eliott's run-in at the school cafeteria, from Eliott's point of view.)





	dans ce malheureux silence

**Author's Note:**

> hi! the other day's clip literally broke my heart (funny how they manage to do it in only 2 minutes) and i guess i wanted to write about lucas & eliott's meeting from eliott's perspective! hope you enjoy

**MARDI**  
**18:34**

Eliott couldn't stop thinking about it.

_Sometimes, you have to choose._

He'd seen Lucas earlier that day, standing in line at the lunch counter. He hadn't turned around; he didn't need to, for Eliott to tell it was him. There was something about the familiar way his shoulders slouched, something about the sinuous line of his back that made Eliott's heart ache, as if there was a string woven between both their chests and it had suddenly been yanked and pulled taut.

There was nobody standing next to him, he noted. There was only an Eliott-shaped space.

He could have turned and went the other way; Lucas wouldn't have known. They could keep playing this little game of theirs, where they side-stepped each other in the hallways and walked in opposite directions in the courtyard and avoided each other's eyes, their gazes directed to the ground, defiant and uncertain all at once.

He could have done it, but he stepped forward instead, walked briskly up to Lucas, settled there in the space at his side. Lucas flinched when he set his tray down on the counter. Eliott's heart sank, but it was too late to turn back around, and there was no use anyway. Eliott didn't think there would ever be a time he wasn't irrevocably drawn to Lucas.

Students bustled about around them, laughter and unintelligible conversations from the cafeteria echoing through the hall. Neither of them spoke.

Lucas watched him wordlessly from the corner of his eye. His hand hovered over his tray, half-curled into a fist, knuckles bandaged tightly, like those of a boxer's. Eliott wondered how he'd hurt it. He had half a mind to take Lucas's hand into his own, curl his fingers around Lucas's, never let go. Their hands had fit so nicely on that bright, beautiful morning, clasped together against the cool white sheets of Lucas's bed.

It was stupid. Eliott shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

 _Can we have lunch together?_ Eliott wanted to ask. _I need to talk to you. About those times we kissed. About what you said about your mother. About how much it hurts to see you and not be able to touch you. About the things I need you to know about me. About us._

He wanted to apologize to Lucas. Or no, he wanted Lucas to apologize to _him_. Or—

His head was becoming loud again, his thoughts cluttering together and reverberating until it was all overwhelming. He took a shuddery breath and calmed himself.

"If I were you, I'd take both of them," he said finally, nodding at the two plates of pasta—one with alfredo sauce, one with marinara—in front of them. There. That was a safe start.

Lucas turned and looked at him then. They locked eyes; Lucas's were deep blue and familiar, but the steely look they held was not. Eliott had gazed into them countless times before, and he'd never seen them quite like this. Lucas's face was blank and devoid of any emotion, but his eyes—there was a storm raging somewhere behind them. Eliott swallowed.

Lucas glanced at the two plates of pasta and then back at Eliott. "Sometimes," he said, his words low and clipped in his mouth, "you have to choose."

Eliott blinked and opened his mouth. He didn't know whether he was going to defend himself— _you made me feel fucking crazy when we had the conversation about your mom_ —or promise Lucas that he would choose right— _I choose you, I love you, please forgive me_.

What came out was: "Do you think that, in the kitchens, they—"

Lucas's face fell. Eliott hadn't recognized the cautious hope that had started to bloom across Lucas's face, but he did recognize the way it crumbled away and his body fell back into rage, rigid and guarded.

"Sorry, I can't do this," Lucas said.

And he had taken his tray and gotten the fuck out, as if he couldn't wait any longer to put some distance between the two of them. Eliott had stood there and watched him disappear, his jaw tense and shoulders hunched under the straps of his bag. He felt completely, thoroughly drained, like a hangover the morning after a late night out, a crash after a high.

"Excuse me," someone behind him had said, tapping his arm. "Can you move?"

* * *

Now he lay on his bed, his socked feet propped up against the wall. The light streaming through his curtains was gray and moribund. The air coming through the window smelled damp and electric with the promise of a thunderstorm.

_Sometimes, you have to choose._

Lucas was right. Not that he had to choose between liking girls and boys, but that he had to choose who he wanted to be with. It was Lucas or Lucille, love or comfort. It was the excitement and tribulations of learning to be with someone new, someone he liked so much it hurt, or the dull familiarity of being with someone he no longer felt any strong connection with.

Eliott let out a sigh.

Lucas had hurt him badly. He didn't need crazy people in his life, he'd said firmly. That meant Eliott. But, Eliott thought, he'd hurt Lucas too. It hadn't been fair of him to go back to Lucille, to post the little doodles of the raccoon and the cat on his Instagram. It had been spiteful. He was an idiot to think things could go back to normal after that.

 _God_ , he thought. This was so stupid.

Eliott curled up on his side and tried to remember how his fingers felt running through Lucas's soft hair. Tried to remember the sure press of Lucas's lips against his mouth, the freckles spattered across his back, the fluttery feeling in the pit of Eliott's stomach that time Lucas had played the piano in his apartment, the way his heart lept every time their knees brushed together. The lazy smiles Lucas shot Eliott's way, the quiet determination he'd had in admitting he'd never been with a guy before.

Lucas was the best person he knew.

Eliott rolled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He would have to choose, and he chose Lucas. He would always choose Lucas, when it came down to it. Every version of himself in every universe would choose Lucas. There was no way he wouldn't—his heart didn't allow it.

Now the only problem was whether Lucas would choose _him_ again.

Eliott hoped this was one of the universes they'd end up together in.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this is not the best thing i've written by any means because i wrote it in under an hour just for fun but i hope you liked it! feedback & comments are always appreciated <3


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